A Two Parks a Day Habit

For her birthday, my friend and photo buddy, Anna (bird watcher and the business brain behind The Way Eye See It Photography), wanted to celebrate with a day at Brooker Creek Nature Preserve in Tarpon Springs. We met early in the morning, anticipating what birds we might spot, and hoping to see Swallow-tailed Kites, but the park was closed when we arrived. We stared at the locked gate, as though the power of our desire would make it magically unlock, and, when it didn't, we sat, contemplating our next move.

John Chestnut Sr Park is, fortunately, only a short drive from Brooker Creek, and we headed there, with no expectations, since we've had hit & miss photo ops on previous visits. We wanted to stop first at the butterfly garden, but got diverted by the loud pounding noises of a Pileated Woodpecker looking for food. It's not easy, despite their bright red heads, to spot pileateds among tall oak branches, and when we did, it flew away. I've yet to get a decent shot of a pileated, but I love watching them, and they're always a goal to look forward to. Alligators are common at John Chestnut, and I wanted to see one surface from an algae-covered pond, but no such luck there, either. We did spot a Blue Heron, though, and its color, combined with the algae, was spectacular.

Not to be deterred from our original birthday plan, Anna and I drove back to Brooker Creek a few days later, and wandered a few trails, followed some butterflies, got a split-second view of a Red-shouldered Hawk, and swatted mosquitoes. Early on, we could tell it was going to be the sort of day where patience might or might not pay off. We finally lucked out on the exit trail, when both a Palimedes Swallowtail and an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, a new butterfly for us, landed and fed on close-by plants. Butterflies are among my most difficult, but favorite, photo challenges. Swallow-tailed Kites are an even more elusive challenge. We'd seen one once at Brooker Creek, and wanted to see one again, but it didn't feel like we would on this trip. So, we packed up our gear, making plans to hit John Chestnut Park next. Anna and I are shameless gawkers, constantly on the look-out for wildlife, and when, on the drive out, Anna spotted Gulf Fritillaries on daisies, we couldn't pass them up. But we had to, because there was a car behind us. So we drove the park's entry/exit loop again, hoping the butterflies hadn't zipped away, and this time pulled over. Not only was I rewarded with butterfly shots, we were shocked when first one, then another, Swallow-tailed Kite swooped over our heads. The first kite flew so close, it practically touched the hood of the car, and I was so surprised, all I could do was watch. Both kites sailed high in the sky above us for a few minutes, before disappearing behind a line of trees.

That's what I love about nature: the magic and the gifts. In my experience, there's a mystical element to nature, which I can't explain, but magical moments, like the Swallow-tailed Kites, almost always happen. Sometimes I have my camera handy, and sometimes I don't. And sometimes I have my camera handy, but am too caught up in the moment, or too surprised, to even think about using it. I don't mind if I don't get the shot; I'm just grateful to receive the gift.

When I'm in the zone, though, concentrating on a subject, there's nothing that compares. Later that afternoon, at John Chestnut, we followed the sound of a Red-shouldered Hawk calling. When we found it, we were able to watch it/photograph it for several minutes. The hawk sat on its oak branch, I stood below it, and it's as though we were connected by some invisible thread. It definitely knew I was there, because it looked right at me, and I stood as still as possible to let it know I wasn't a threat. In moments like this, when I'm connected to an animal, it feels like I'm in a bubble, and nothing exists outside it. These moments fade as abruptly as they occur, and I can always feel when the moment is over. The imaginary thread breaks, the bubble bursts, and I hear the noises of everyday life again.

I've never felt complete in anything I've ever done until I started taking photography seriously. I've always loved being in nature, and the combination is what makes me whole. In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell talks about "the peak experience." He explains it as "actual moments of your life when you experience your relationship to the harmony of being." Campbell's peak experiences came when he ran track. My peak experiences happen, camera ready (or not), in nature.

That's why I'll never give up my two parks a day habit.

Cross Creek - Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's Florida Homestead

Smack dab in the middle of nowhere sits the tiny community of Cross Creek, Florida, and smack dab in the middle of Cross Creek, sits author Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's Cracker homestead, purchased in 1928, when Marjorie moved to Florida in search of a place to write. Standing amidst her citrus groves, it's not hard to imagine what life was like when Marjorie lived there. It's as though her spirit still resides in the trees, the barn, her seasonal kitchen garden, the now quiet typewriter sitting on the front porch table, next to a pack of Lucky Strikes and an empty gin glass.

The day we visited, it was stormy and hot. In fact, it rained so hard at one point, we took refuge in the barn along with a few chickens. When the rain stopped, steam rose from the tin roof of the hen house, and left droplets on the tiny growing oranges in the grove.

As much as I love wandering the grounds, my favorite part of the Cross Creek experience is walking through Marjorie's house. Like any visitor, you wipe your feet on the doormat, and enter through the front porch, where Marjorie wrote and napped. The house still contains mostly original furnishings, aside from Marjorie's book collection, which included signed copies by Ernest Hemingway and Robert Frost. Many authors were guests at Cross Creek, and if only the dining room walls could talk. Not hindered by political correctness, and fueled by fresh, local food and much booze, you can practically hear the high-spirited conversations that took place. Marjorie had gentler dinners with poet Robert Frost, though, and I like to envision them discussing yearlings, sojourners, fences and neighbors, and roads not taken.

Marjorie's kitchen alone is worth the visit. My mother's side of the family comes from a North Florida town about the size of Cross Creek, called Ponce de Leon. The family homestead is a typical Cracker house with a tin roof and wrap-around porch, and Marjorie's kitchen reminds me of the kitchen my Great Aunt Anna Lou ruled: wood burning stove, pie chest, fresh veggies from the garden, corn bread in a skillet, and the mixings for caramel cake. Park rangers at Marjorie's still use the kitchen to occasionally cook for themselves.

Marjorie called Cross Creek her "place of enchantment." She lived there for 25 years, wrote The Yearling and Cross Creek there, and, although it was by no means an easy life on a farming homestead, walking the grounds and in the house, you can feel what she meant. She had an independence out there on her land, and took pleasure in her natural surroundings. She created a successful business from her groves, and I'm sure would be pleased to know her land still produces citrus, and continues to live on as a state park.

"It is is necessary to leave the impersonal highway, to step inside the rusty gate, and close it behind. One is now inside the orange grove, out of one world and in the mysterious heart of another. And after long years of spiritual homelessness, of nostalgia, here is that mystic loveliness of childhood again. Here is home."

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Cross Creek, 1942